My Life as a Male Tribute
by butyousaidforeverandalways
Summary: Eighteen-year-old Taylor's life in the fields is pretty average-until her brother is chosen to be a tribute in the Games, and Taylor is faced with the ultimate choice-volunteer for the opposite gender and risk everything, or sit and watch her brother die?
1. The Decision

**Let me get this straight: I am NOT quitting my MR story...**

**I'm just gonna try a little something new. :)**

**Oh, and just pretend Catching Fire was a little more...**

**normal?**

**lys**

*****

Hi.

My name is Taylor Knightson.

I am, most definitely, a _girl._

Why, exactly, am I telling you this?

Let's rewind...

**District 11 Reaping**

I yawn and put down my plow, sighing as the mayor of Eleven starts his bland Panem speech. (Now, if it were a _musical..._) Our escort, Mony, (which to me sounds too much like _monkey_) starts _his _bland speech about doing this for our country, odds ever in your favor, blah blah blah-blah. He finally shuts his trap and announces: "Ladies first," as our mentor, a twenty-something year old girl named Micah, smiles and waves, though her smile is frigid and emotionless.

Micah won the Seventy-second Hunger Games, nine years ago, at the age of fourteen when the sponsors sent a simple farming hoe...

An immediate massacre had taken place shortly, and Micah had won, and her hoe was now a violent blood-red. I know this for a fact, since she still uses it to clear the land, no matter how rugged it has become.

I pray for me and my best friend, Lauren: _not me, not Lauren, not me, not Lauren... _After all, this is our final year of eligibility.

"Shanna Wheatley!" Phew.

"Gentlemen!" I guess I could stop praying now...

"Ben Knightson!" Oh, _**no.**_

Ben Knightson is my _brother._

And I think I've already made it clear that I am totally without question a GIRL.

But maybe, just maybe, I could pull it off, and before I know it, my mouth opens and the words spill out...

"I volunteer!" I yell frantically, even though I know I'll be stopped...

"Excuse me, ma'am, you can't volunteer for the opposite gender," A gruff Peacekeeper puts his hands on his hips in the universal "uh-uh" gesture.

"I, uh, I..." I decide right then and there to make the difficult decision, clearing my throat so as not to sound shrill and girlish. "I _am _a boy."

The crowd is awestruck by what I had just done, but the Peacekeepers are totally oblivious, yet another sign that they either don't know us or don't care. (I personally think it's the latter.)

Mony grabs my hand, and Shanna's, too.

"Our District Eleven Tributes!"

And the Eighty-First Hunger Games have officially begun.

*****

**After the Reaping**

I'm still wearing my sweatpants and baggy t-shirt, giving nothing away, glad I hadn't dressed up, when my family comes in to visit me.

"Oh, Taylor," my mom sobs. She and everyone else knew the sacrifice I had made, and she and everyone else knew that I _had_ to do it. I just had to. I couldn't sit around and watch my skinny thirteen-year-old brother's death on TV...

Lauren hugs me and tells me that I'll do great, but I don't really hear her, I'm thinking about what tomorrow will bring...

I shush them quietly. I don't want anyone to see me or my family right now, and I especially don't want the _Capitol _to see any of this. I have to stay strong.

"Five minutes," a Peacekeeper warns, and it is then that I fully realize what has happened, the weight on my shoulders, the pressure to stay covert and my family and friends at stake.

My last five minutes with my family drags on, nobody really saying anything, until finally an older man knocks on the door.

"Time's up." Lauren hugs me one last time, then she is gone, and a single tear rolls down my cheek.

And, for probably the first time in my eighteen years, I am totally, entirely, completely, definitely, alone.

*

Shanna comes to join me, her face already wiped clean of emotions. She's a nice girl, average height and build, really sarcastic, normal in almost every way.

Except for her striking red hair and blue eyes. I really feel sorry for her, because although it's a distinguishing factor, it would make it utterly easy for enemies to track her down.

I decide that she's a decent fighter and could hold her own, plus that _hair _is just too much of a risk.

I do _not _want her as an ally.

Shanna leans over to whisper in my ear as we are led to another room.

"Good luck," she murmurs almost unintelligibly. "and your secret is safe with me."

Even though we will not be allies, I know I'll always have someone who will take my secret to the grave.

*****

**So?**

**Yay?**

**Nay?**

**I also have a new CU chapter up!!!**

**Lys**


	2. Watching my Competiton

**Thanks to xXKillerxxCupcakeXx, my first reviewer :) :)**

**OG...**

**y "" key just snapped off my acBook Pro.**

**I' freaking out.**

**(a inute and a half later)**

**HAHA. I FIXED IT. :D**

**And I am proud to announce I have typed my longest freaking document EVER. :)**

**lys**

*****

**Taylor POV**

I shove my hands into my pockets, which I do naturally under stress, and I feel something small in the right-hand pocket of my sweater.

It's a little farming plow charm on a light golden chain.

In an instant, I know it must be from Lauren, an expert pickpocket. I roll it around in my fingers, thinking about how when I die, I'll die a boy.

It's a revolting yet really depressing thought. But I try to thank God for everything that's happened today. I am thankful for my tomboyish appearance and dark pixie cut, and I am proud of what I did.

If only the thing I had did hadn't involved certain death, then maybe I would be happier.

Shanna and I are led into a small room filled with cameras, and I smirk at them, feeling the TV audience saying to themselves, "Oh, she's a contender, that one."

But of course, since I am a "boy," they'll be talking about Shanna and ignoring the strangely girlish male tribute.

I blink to myself, really taking this in for the first time, and I go through a serious struggle to keep the uninterested smirk on my face.

Finally, we depart from the small room and into the train station. The station is old and rickety, the trains even more so.

But the train I see chug-chugging into the station has to be one of the biggest-and one of the only-vehicles I have ever seen. It would take about twenty of me-and hey, I'm six-foot-to measure this humongous vehicle.

The Peacekeepers finally leave Shanna, Mony, Micah, and me to ourselves, and taking a deep breath, we board the giant train one by one.

*****

When we board the train, a replay of the district reapings, all except for Twelve which would come on live in a few minutes, is playing on the TV screen next to a few couches in the fanciest lounge I've ever seen-and this is a freaking TRAIN.

A few people really stick out- a dark-haired mysterious looking guy from One, a scary looking girl from Two who threatens to kill volunteers, a gorgeous young girl from Four. I watch my own reaping, abridged into two minutes. I see my poor brother, Ben, heading toward the podium, trying to mask his face but failing considerably.

I see myself, trying to keep the tears from falling. I see Lauren's face, wide with shock, and I distantly hear the reporter's voice, "Is this Taylor's girlfriend?"

That question snaps me back to reality, and I know there'll be questions about Lauren, my best friend, whom I unknowingly dragged into this whole mess. I groan inwardly.

I focus my thoughts back to the present and try to watch the live reapings of District Twelve. An enthusiastic lady by the name of Effie draws from the reaping balls: a plain girl who washes out of my mind, and a familiar-looking boy who looks about twelve by the name of Vick Hawthorne. This seems particularly haunting for some reason, and I think it's because the mentor of Twelve, a girl by the name of Katniss Everdeen, yells out a loud "NO!" and the boy is volunteered for, by his own brother. Is this what _I_ looked like when I volunteered? Full of panic and suppressed fear?

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding, and I feel a surge of respect for this other boy who has volunteered. I think his name is Rory. Rory Hawthorne, who the reporters say is in his final year of eligibility, just like me. He remains indifferent for the cameras, but inside, I see a boy who is scared out of his wits.

And that's when I know who this boy is.

We all know the story of District Twelve's second winner, Katniss. In fact, her name literally goes down in the history books as the only person ever to share a Games victory, with a young man named Peeta Mellark. But when she was in the Games, she was suspected to have another love interest-Gale.

Gale HAWTHORNE. I can imagine how hard this must be for Katniss, to feel the pain of someone else and no longer be eligible to take it herself.

I_ know _I have to try to make allies with this Rory boy, because I see myself in him. I see the desperate need to save his brother, and I feel the pain in his heart, knowing he may never come home.

Plus, he's really cute.

_No,_ I push the thought out of my head and close my eyes. Out of sight, out of mind. I can't like anyone here. I can't, because I can't stand to watch them die, and I'm supposed to be a _guy._

My mind flashes back to when I was twelve, watching Katniss volunteering for her sister, and I'm hit with a strong sense of déja vu.

Family.

They really are important. And the sacrifices we make for them just prove that all the more.

I open my eyes to find Micah staring at me. "You okay?" She looks sincere, and I know the Games are a big deal for her.

I nod slowly and stand from the couch. "Yeah. Just kinda tired. It's been a long day."

Micah looks at me, sadness filling her eyes. "I know the feeling."


	3. Anya

**Thanks to all my reviewers...**

**this chapter is dedicated to LoveTheBoyWithTheBread, who sent me a cookie!!!**

**om nom nom... and this chapter is also dedicated to whisper666 for his/(her?) constructive criticism! :)**

**Any MR fans out there?**

**This chapter is mostly character building. Yup, you caught me. :D**

*****

The train is going faster and faster, and I feel like I am flying, almost, whooshing past many different, vibrant colors. It's really cool.

For the first time today, I really get a look at the inside of this huge vehicle. Shanna and I each have our own bedrooms, bathrooms, closets filled with clothes. It's certainly a step up from my small country home where I share a room with my two sisters and my dear brother, Ben.

I can only imagine what life would be like if I won...

But of course, it won't happen. I know I won't last long, but I'm certainly glad it's me going in to do this.

I go to the bathroom, larger than my whole house. It's filled with two sinks, a shower, a bathtub, and a separate room for the toilet. I take off my clothes and step into the shower, spending five minutes trying to figure out how to work the damn thing. (Turns out, you turn the little knob so that the arrow is pointing toward the letter "H." I totally prefer the hot springs in my backyard.)

When my shower is over, I look into my dresser and find a simple burlap shirt and black pants. A fielder's outfit. It makes me think of home, and after I dress, I sit down on my oversized bed, and I cry.

After ten or so minutes, I don't really know, I wash my face of all my tears, sniff, and head out to the main lounge for supper. Shanna and Micah are already there, and Mony walks in as I sit down. We talk about what has happened today, and we talk about what is to come. Strategies, techniques-it all blends together in my mind into one big mushy ball of knowledge.

Finally, our dinner comes. I see a long breadstick with rye seeds in it. This is bread from our district! I point it out happily, and Shanna meets my eyes, her own blue eyes shining with tears. I feel a pang of jealousy because Shanna can cry all she wants, while I have to remain stoic.

Stupid Capitol. I cut up my steak with more gusto than needed, which is proven when I hear a _crack_ and half of my plate falls to the floor. Flimsy decorative plates-I snort loudly in disgust, and Mony looks at me as if it is the biggest horror in the world. I glance at Shanna to see that she is hiding a smile.

"Oh, my," Mony says in his strange Capitol accent. He whistles loudly, and a stocky man comes running out the doorway and collects my plate, which has now proceeded to drip broth onto my pants. I smile apologetically to this man, who refuses to say a word. I wonder if I have set him off somehow.

After dinner, I stagger off to the bathroom and sit on the cool tile floor, putting my head between my knees. The full force of today, the breakneck speed of the train, and the rich Capitol food are too much to bear. I stagger to one of the sinks and heave. When I am done, I am certainly feeling much better.

The train stops for some reason, and I thank heaven, clean the sink, and collect my thoughts.

My mind drifts off, and I think of something that hasn't been talked about in my family for seven years. Something my sisters and Ben barely even remember, but I know this painful, vivid, memory by heart.

I remember my older sister, Anya.

Anya was eight years older than me, and she hated the Capitol. She would do everything in her power to piss them off, and one day it went too far.

I remember pulling up weeds, Anya next to me, and she told me something I would never forget.

"We're just pawns, Tay," she said. "We deserve the right to do something with our lives, and we deserve more than this hellhole country will ever give us. We can be free. I _know _we can be _free!_" Anya was nineteen, and I was eleven. I remember not knowing what a hellhole was, or what was so wrong with the Capitol. They saved us from war, didn't they? Isn't that what we learned in school? But I nodded, anyway, when I heard the sharp _clack _of boots just as a Peacekeeper grabbed Anya's arm roughly. I remember screaming as loud as I could, taking off to run from the fields, running, anywhere. Finally, I stopped and headed back toward where I had left my sister, but before I could return, I heard commotion in the city square. My mother was there, waiting for me, arms outstretched.

I remember Anya's shrieks of pain echoing through the wind, spiraling, drifting off to unknown places. I remember watching from behind my mother's crying form as Anya was put through that horrible, awful whipping, and I remember seeing the crimson blood flowing down her back. I remember the last word Anya had said to me, her face distorted from all the pain. I remember her yelling out to me, before she drifted away from me.

"Taylor," she said, tears and blood streaming down her face. "Remember me. Remember _freedom._" Anya had said her last words to me, and only me, before she took her last breath and her heart stopped beating.

The corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly at what she had accomplished.

She had instilled rebellion into my veins.

And that is how my valiant sister, Anya, died smiling.


End file.
